


Raging Storm

by BalefireFlatlands



Category: Mad Max (Video Game 2015)
Genre: Belt & Shear, Dub-con because of the nature of Belt being a slave, M/M, Roadkill OC - Freeform, War-Boy OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-17 00:45:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16964577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BalefireFlatlands/pseuds/BalefireFlatlands
Summary: A storm hits the Roadkill camp and brings in some treasures.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off an image posted here: http://zywritesporn.tumblr.com/post/135925787160/adventures-in-z-space-zywritesporn

The lone lookout for the Roadkill camp was posted in a tall ramshackle nest a fair distance from the main camp. He had a sniper rifle, a set of binoculars and a flare gun to signal should anyone be approaching. Very rarely did War Boys try to take the camp, it was perched high on a cliff-side, accessible by a narrow staircase, and didn’t have much in the way of resources other than a large blue dew collector providing all who lived there with plenty of water.

There was a War Party in the gorge though and Shear watched them through his binoculars, hand on a shiny piece of metal nearby. He could catch the light with it and tell the lookout at the camp where the threat was coming from. But they veered off in the other direction and he lowered the lenses, going back to being bored and watching bugs crawling on the cliff walls.

Abruptly the sky darkened and Shear rolled onto his back to look up at it with growing concern. He hadn’t seen the storm coming on the horizon but it was close now. Too close. The War Boys below him scattered in all directions, cars taking off in a futile attempt to outrun the storm, he could hear their panicked yelling as they floored their engines and tried to get out of the storm’s path. Shear ignored them, they were doomed if they thought that they could drive faster than the sandstorm.

Gathering up his pack of supplies and his gun he pulled the goggles down on his eyes and pounded down the stairs, feet churning as he ran as fast as he could towards a small outcropping of rocks and slid into the tiny cave there. It was full of bugs and a few lizards that he promptly smashed with his fist and threw in his bag as a snack for later. Dust from the War Boys’ cars was barely settling when all light was completely blotted out and the cave went as dark as one of the Buzzards underground nests.

Complete silence filled the land and Shear could actually hear his pulse, the utter calm before a storm hit was one of the most terrifying things the Roadkill sniper had ever experienced.

And then the wind hit.

Screaming through the gorge it destroyed everything in its path. Sand filled every crevice, something large and metal whipped by as if it was light as a feather. And then a very human yell of fear and pain and there was a loud thud as a person was pummeled into the rock above the cave and then hit the ground, arms scrabbling for purchase on anything to keep from being swept up by the storm. Shear reached out and wrapped his fingers around the straps on the stunned War Boy’s pants and dragged him into the cave. He might have supplies on him Shear could use, and barring that some knowledge that the rest of the camp could torture out of him.

Terrified that he was going to die alone and to a simple sand storm, the War Boy scrambled into the cave, pressing up against the back wall and breathing heavily. He didn’t have goggles, a mask, not even a shirt, nothing to protect him from the ravages of the storm. Shear wasn’t wearing that much clothing either, but at least he’d known what to do when the storm hit. Dragging the injured War Boy away from the wall he pounded on his back until he vomited up all the sand he had breathed in.

“Injured, yea? Don’t try nuthing. If'n you wanna live that is, otherwise I got a pressie for ya.” Shear held up a long thin knife and pointed it at the War Boy who got the idea immediately and nodded, freezing in place. “Hands together, right? You know the play.”

With a grunt the War Boy let his wrists be tied together, laying on his side and staring out at the sand as it whipped around, scattering debris everywhere even into the cave. Shear knelt over him, emptying his pockets and taking what he wanted from him. The only thing the War Boy did was hack up some more sand, he didn’t even fight back. Must be a lot more injured than he looked, or else a coward, or maybe something else. Shear’s eyes fell on the brands and scars that all War Boys had, these ones redder and bloodier than he’d seen before. Shaking his head he pondered taking his pants too, they had a lot of pockets and Shear could use that, but he wasn’t cruel enough to make someone lay naked in the sand.

“When the wind stoppers, I’ll takes ya out. Your mates done leave you here?” He pulled a piece of fabric out of his pocket, tying it around the War Boy’s face, not to gag him, but to keep him from breathing in more sand. The War Boy eyed him, wincing as he pulled his bound hands up against his chest, the symbol of Scrotus carved into his arm was still fresh, blood mingled with sand like it might have been cut into him that morning. Shear touched it, rubbing the blood between his dark fingers. “This be your first drive?”

“The car’ll go faster with less weight in it.” He said it with no emotion, like he was simply repeating what he’d been told. He didn’t bother to answer the second question, the fresh brands spoke for themselves. “My name’s Belt.”

Shear inclined his head and touched his fist to his chest. “Shear.” Turning his back on the War Boy he crawled back to the entrance to the cave, eyeing the storm. “Settle in, goings on for a while out there. Then we’ll pull a leaving, get you up to the camp.” Looking back at Belt he returned to his side. “They’s not much for feeding you the first fight right? Got a bit of hunger you can have. While we starts the waiting.”

Belt furrowed his brow, struggling to understand what the hell Shear was saying. “What?”

Shear shook his head. “Food.” He pulled one of the dead lizards from his pack and tossed it by Belt’s head. Belt seized on it, grabbing it with both hands and pulling the mask off his face so he could shove it in his mouth, chewing noisily.

“How do you know I didn’t eat?”

“They’s do it to all of you. Training. I’ve caught a lot of you pups.” He reached out and roughly patted the War Boy’s head like he was a dog.

“I’m not a pup anymore!” Growled through a mouthful of lizard. “What’d you do with the other ones you had?”

“They all made me corpse them. But you’re knowing more than that right?” Shear kept on petting his head affectionately, and strangely Belt was letting him.

“What’ll you do with me if I cooperate?”

“Not up to me.” But realistically they’d probably kill him eventually no matter how cooperative he was. Feeding another person wasn’t something they took lightly. “Depends on what you’re giving them. If they don’t want you they might give you to me for the keeping.” That wasn’t entirely uncommon, and Shear fixed his prisoner with another look, wondering what he’d look like in a leather harness on the back of his motorcycle.

“I’m not a pet. Or a slave. I’m a War Boy. I’ll fight you.”

“Haven’t yet now have ya?” He smiled, moving from stroking his head to his chest, his dark fingers coming away white tipped and chalky. “Why do you do this to yourselves? It gets all everywhere.”

Belt shrugged. “It’s just what we do. Embrace our half-lives as we become death.”

“Should live for life instead of living for death. It’s a lot more satisfying.” He settled down next to his prisoner, continuing to pet him while he watched the storm rage outside. “I’ll show you when the light be coming back. So I can see what I’m doing. And you’re right nice to look at. Wouldn’t mind keeping you myself.” He smiled again, in an entirely different way, teeth very white against black lips.

The War Boy flushed under his paint, but he hadn’t pulled away. Attention was attention and none of his training had ever mentioned what he was supposed to do if taken prisoner. They probably assumed he’d have died gloriously before it came to that, never be taken alive. But here he was. Alive. With a Roadkill he could barely understand even though they were speaking the same language, who seemed to enjoy petting him for some unknown reason.

It did’t feel bad though. And he wasn’t in the storm being sandblasted alive. Anything was preferable to that. Even…. even whatever it was Shear was offering him. He had been a War Boy for all of two days, and already it seemed like his fighting days were over. Sighing he settled in to wait for the storm to pass, watching it out the opening of the cave as Shear continued to stroke him. The storm raged on for hours, and a famished War Boy who’d been battered by the winds could only take so much.

He fell asleep.

“Dream well my little pup.” Shear rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder, mentally preparing his argument for why he should be allowed to keep this enemy to himself. He needed a better reason than how good he would look in only leather. And that he was called Belt; he even had the perfect name for riding around in Shear’s bitch seat.

There was a soft sound as Belt twitched in his sleep and then leaned into Shear’s hand. Oh yes. He needed to keep this one. All for himself.


	2. Unharnessed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belt is a little more than just a pet.

Shear stood next to the small metal cage where Belt was being kept, smacking the top of it to wake him before squatting down so he could see him better. Belt woke with a start, jerking back against the metal bars of his cage and glaring. He was naked, bound at the wrists and ankles with rough rope that was cutting into his skin, most of his war paint sweated off in the sweltering heat of the cage. The only scrap of clothing he still had was the reddish bandanna Shear had tied around his face, now down around his neck, Shear’s claim on the War Boy’s life.

“Wake up!” Shear smiled brightly, scuttling back as the guard came forward to unlock the cage. “They’ve decided I can has you. Come on out War Boy.”

He hadn’t been useful at all to the Roadkill. He knew plenty about the Citadel, but the stronghold of Immortan Joe was so far away it was likely none of them would ever even see it. What they wanted information on was Gastown, and while Belt had been insistent that he wouldn’t tell them anything, it was clear that bravado was because he actually didn’t know anything. He was obviously fresh meat for their war machine, the possessive brands of Scrotus hadn’t even started to heal.

Belt glowered, squirming towards the opening so that Shear could get an arm around him and drag him the rest of the way out. He didn’t want to be Shear’s pet, or slave, or whatever the man wanted, but he also didn’t want to be in a cramped little cage boiling in the heat. Shear untied the rope binding his ankles, they were about the same size and Shear didn’t think he could carry the War Boy, hopefully he’d walk on his own. Standing him up he snaked an arm around him to keep Belt from collapsing, he hadn’t been out of the cage in a while and the Roadkill could tell his legs and back were cramping up.

Shear marched the naked War Boy through the entire Roadkill camp, keeping a tight grip on his arm, reminding the rest of the Roadkill that this one was his and they weren’t allowed to touch. Belt shrank against him, clearly embarrassed and scared and Shear’s grin didn’t help.

Once back in Shear’s sniper tower the War Boy crunched himself up against the back of the lean-to that provided them with shade on the top level. “What are you gonna do with me?”

“Anything I want.” Shear was sorting out a bundle of clothes and leather bits before approaching Belt and starting to untie his wrists. “What’d you like?”

“You could let me go.” He watched Shear pull out that very sharp knife again, holding it against Belt’s neck as he released him from his bonds.

“No. Got a choice I’m handing you. Can corpse you right in the now, even make it quick-like. Or you can stay, be a good pet, and I’ll treat you nice. I’m not so bad.”

Belt spit in his face despite the knife. “Rather you kill me! I’m a War Boy. I’m not afraid of death!”

Shear climbed on top of him, straddling his chest. He dropped the knife to the floor, caressing the side of Belt’s face with his fingers. “Sure about that? I’m not your witness, your brothers won’t be knowing you’re out here. What happens to War Boy’s who don’t got no one doing the seeing when they die?”

Eyes going wide Belt swallowed hard. He hadn’t thought about that. No one would see this Roadkill slit his throat, he wouldn’t be awaited. Cursed to wander the wastes forever, never shiny, never chrome. “What … What do you want me to do?”

Shear smiled again, rolling off of him and retrieving his knife. Sheathing it he went back to the pile of clothes. “First get you clothed up. Shame, but there’s work to be doing.” He reached out and stroked Belt’s thigh, causing him to twitch and pull away. “Then we work on that.” He couldn’t have a pet that freaked out every time he touched him. That’s what pets were for after all.

Belt eyed that bundle of clothes. “I’m not calling you Master.”

Shear chuckled, “Don’t want that. You call me Shear.” Untangling a bunch of brown leather straps Shear worked Belt’s arms through the harness, rolling him onto his stomach so he could strap him in. Shear buckled it fairly tight, it would be uncomfortable for Belt to wear all day. A calculated move to make sure his new pet played nice, he’d take him out of it at night if he was good.

Shear ran his hands down Belt’s back, to his legs, cupping his hands around his thighs before moving back up to fondle the War Boy’s ass. Belt gasped and struggled to get away. Shear grabbed him by the harness and dragged him into his lap, pressing Belt’s back against his chest. “Calm. Won’t never hurt you.”

Despite that, Belt started to pant in fear, his chest compressed by the harness. Shear’s hands roamed over his stomach and groin, fingers brushing around his shaft, feeling the smoothness. He did so enjoy that War Boys shaved their entire bodies.

“What are you doing?!” Belt sounded panicked and honestly confused, frozen against Shear as the Roadkill wrapped a hand around him, coaxing his dick to stand at attention. His hands grabbed behind him at Shear’s thighs, trying to somehow back away even more, not understanding what was happening.

“You never been touched before?”

Belt shook his head, gasping out a few soft sounds as Shear started to stroke him.

Shear chuckled low in his throat, a sound Belt could feel in his chest. “Good. Not ruined by Gastown boys. All in love with their pain, wants to make you suffer some ‘stead of enjoy it. I’ll fix it. You’ll be seeing.” He stopped stroking him, pulling his hands away and smirking as Belt’s hips thrust up into nothing. He nosed into the boy’s neck, biting his ear gently and was rewarded with a shudder and those fingers digging into his thighs. “Good boy.”

He wanted to play with him, but he actually had work he needed to do. Pulling Belt’s pants back on he finished dressing him and let him go, acting casual but on the lookout for an attack. The War Boy didn’t disappoint, immediately jumping at Shear and trying to knock him off the platform. Shear easily kicked his feet out from under him, climbing onto his chest and pushing him down onto the metal floor. “You play nice and when it’s hunger, I’ll feed you. Keep with the fighting and I’ll have you looking like the bones you paint yourself to be.” He ran his fingers between the War Boy’s already prominent ribs causing Belt to snarl, but he didn’t attack him again.

A week passed. When Belt obediently followed Shear around he got food, water, and Shear would take the harness off at night to caress him, wrap his body around him in a way that felt amazing. He’d started pushing his fingers into Belt’s ass, which didn’t feel good at all, but he’d always distract him with his mouth, something that had Belt gasping and writhing and losing control of himself. When Belt tried to escape or tried to fight he didn’t get fed. And if he was particularly awful he wouldn’t get water either. And he had to sleep in the harness while tied to the wall which meant he got almost no sleep.

And Shear didn’t touch him. He should have been glad, but he found himself wanting the touches and he hated himself for it. The Roadkill was doing something to him. Something devious, making him want to be there, making him want to stay with him. He was a War Boy. He didn’t belong here and he certainly wasn’t a pet. He glared at Shear as the man slept against the wall, almost invisible in the darkness. Belt had been squirming around for hours now, and had managed to get the leash unhooked from the ring on his back and get free. His hand closed around a metal pipe, raising it up to bludgeon the sleeping Roadkill to death. But then he lowered it.

Belt was a War Boy, he’d killed people before, some for no other reason than because someone else told him to. But he didn’t feel right killing someone in their sleep, especially someone who had fed him. With a grunt he put the pipe back down and silently climbed to the ground, taking off out of the gorge at a dead run. He needed to get as far away as possible before Shear woke up.

What Belt hadn’t counted on was that he had no real idea where Gastown was from the Roadkill camp, and that walking through the desert after the sun came up was an absolutely terrible idea. Of course by the time he realized that, the sun was directly above him, broiling him to death as he struggled to keep moving despite the fatigue and dehydration.

He didn’t even hear the motorcycle until it was right next to him, comically jumping backwards and falling into the sand.

Shear sighed, “Get on the bike.”

“No! I’m a War Boy. Need to … get … Need to get to Gastown.” Belt aimed a punch at Shear, missed completely and nearly fell again.

“Get on the bike.”

Belt scanned the horizon, trying to judge the best direction to run. His head throbbed, his tongue felt thick in his mouth, and he barely reacted when Shear shoved a canteen in his hands. Then he realized what it was, uncapping it and drinking greedily, struggling to swallow with a throat that had dried to sandpaper. “I have to go back. The Immortan. Have to..”

“They’ll just welcome you back after dozens of days passed? Get on the bike.”

Swallowing hard Belt tried to think straight through the pounding headache right behind his eyes. He was a War Boy, they would want him back. Wouldn’t they? They’d kicked him out in the storm to save their own hides, they wouldn’t begrudge him spending a few days with an enemy to save his own. Would they? Swaying dangerously he took a few steps away, looking between Shear and the horizon, mouth open as he panted.

Then he walked closer. He got on the bike.

He needed food and water and to rethink his escape plan as this one was doomed. He wrapped his arms around Shear’s middle, leaning his head against his back. Grunting Shear turned the motorcycle back towards the camp, concerned when he felt how feverishly hot the War Boy was. By the time they got back to the camp Belt had gone listless, his breathing shallow, barely able to hold onto Shear to keep from falling off the bike. Instead of carrying him up to the sniper nest he led him to the cave where they had hidden from the storm. It would be cooler there, and he could deal with what was very obviously heat stroke.

Unstrapping the harness from him he smiled slightly at the pristine white skin under the straps, and the blistered red, sunburned skin everywhere else. It still looked like he was wearing it even when he was free from the leather cage. He pulled his pants off too, trying to cool him down as much as possible “I’m gonna fetch you water. Stay here.”

Belt looked up at him but didn’t respond, dropping his head down onto the nice cool rock. He thought about trying to escape again while Shear was gone, but he could barely see properly, let alone move to get up. He lay there limply as Shear returned, pulling the bandanna from his neck and soaking it with water and then rubbing it all over Belt’s exposed skin, cooling him off as it evaporated. “Stupid War Boy.” He stroked more water over his scalp, hoping that he wouldn’t become sun addled with permanent brain damage.

“Filthy Roadkill.”

—

Belt tightened his grip on Shear’s waist as the Roadkill jumped his motorcycle off a cliff, thudding heavily onto the rocky ground below and skidding between the debris. He turned his head to shout back at Belt over the roar of the engine of his bike, and all the others in the little scavenging party. Belt nodded, pulling back slightly and shifting so he could see around him. The bike leaned heavily to the side and Belt reached out a hand to scoop up the metal bit laying on the ground and then tucked it into one of the saddlebags on the back of the bike before quickly returning his arms to Shear. He’d fallen off once, and that had been one time too many.

The Roadkill handled scavenge missions like nothing the War Boy had ever seen. They’d run by on motorcycles and cars, grabbing what they could and disappearing as quickly as they came, usually no one even got off their vehicles. Which was cowardly to Belt, but he had to admit no one ever got hurt or killed. Several of the Roadkill had people sitting on the back of their bikes to help, but none of them were wearing the harness proclaiming them as slaves. Or as Shear put it: a pet. There were a couple in the camp, but none were War Boys, which made Belt uncomfortable as they were always trying to touch him, talking about him in a way that the War Boy couldn’t understand.

Shear reached back to pat Belt’s thigh briefly before turning the bike and heading back to his outpost. As a sniper he lived apart from the rest of them, which granted him privacy and his own space. Something he cherished even more now that he had this pet War Boy to play with. He hadn’t fully taken him yet, but he was feeling good today, and he’d been slowly preparing him for a month. Tonight might just be a very good night.

Pulling to a stop underneath his sniper nest Shear let the rest of the camp pass him by before getting off the bike and turning to Belt. The War Boy had already gathered the saddlebags into his shoulders and started to climb up to the shack they lived in. Only been there a little shy of two months and he already knew exactly what to do. Shear followed him up, admiring the way his shoulder muscles bunched as he dropped the supplies they’d found on the metal floor. 

Shear wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him flush against his chest reaching his hand up to stroke his scalp, still smooth since the War Boy insisted on continuing to shave himself and wear war paint. Belt leaned against his shoulder, bringing his hands up to hold him. He still considered himself a War Boy, still thought he belonged at Gastown, but Shear was pleasant to be around and made him feel warm and tingly just by touching him.

The straps of the harness were undone and Shear tossed it to the side, running his hands over the newly exposed skin. Belt was naturally pale as bone, but he’d tanned to a soft bronze from being out with Shear. Except under the harness, a permanent reminder of his status even when he wasn’t wearing it. Shear sank to the mattress, pulling Belt down with him rolling the unprotesting War Boy onto his back. He worked off Belt’s shoes and pants fingers hungrily caressing all that newly exposed skin.

Belt squirmed. He was a timid thing for a War Boy, and extra skittish when he was naked. It made him feel exposed and vulnerable and those were two things that didn’t mesh well with being a hard, chrome as hell fighter. Shear chuckled, starting to stroke his length in a way that never failed to make the War Boy shudder, arch off the blankets and close his eyes. Pre-cum dribbled down his dick, the barest touches setting his body on the path to climax almost immediately.

Shear stroked down the tip of his dick, slicking up his hand so he could reach behind him and start to probe into his hole. Belt gasped and dug his fingers into Shear’s arm, trying to push him away, he did not like that sensation at all. Shear understood and he was trying to make it as comfortable for his pet as possible. He lowered his mouth to his dick licking from his balls up his shaft. With his free hand he pulled the skin back from the tip and dipped his tongue along the sensitive area right around the head of his cock. Belt’s reaction had Shear struggling to keep himself contained and not ram into him with his dick right then.

The War Boy’s hands moved up to dig into Shear’s scalp, tangling in his hair. His hips were pistoning off the ground trying to gain more purchase into that warm mouth. With his eyes closed he didn’t see Shear tearing off all his own clothes, throwing his goggles at the wall and kicking his shoes off so hard they tumbled out the opening of the doorway to plummet two stories to the ground below. He had his fingers firmly embedded in Belt’s ass and it was time to get serious.

Kneeling between those pale spread legs, Shear curled his fingers forward toward his belly, rubbing the pads of his fingers back and forth against his prostate. And causing Belt to nearly lose his mind. He’d never felt anything like the sparkling pleasure that was being forced out of him, like his dick was being stroked from the inside. Crying out, half words and garbled sounds, he brought his knees up to give himself more purchase then abruptly dropped them. His fingers massaged into Shear’s hair then dug in as he grunted in confusion as Shear pulled his fingers out, removing the stroking pressure that was giving Belt such pleasure.

“Hear me.” Shear put his hands on the ground by Belt’s shoulders so he could crouch over him, looking him in the eye. “Breathe, yeah? Don’t stop breathing.”

Belt didn’t understand, looking up at him and licking his lips. He was about to tell him so when Shear drove into him, one hand underneath Belt’s thigh to keep his ass in position as he started to fuck him. Belt immediately gasped, breath catching as he gritted his teeth. He realized he was holding his breath and tried to start breathing again, but it was hard to concentrate when what Shear was doing hurt so bad. It seemed to go on and on as Shear slid into him until their crotches rested together.

“Breathe.”

Belt gasped and nodded, trying his best. His fingers moved to clutch at Shear’s back, digging in deeply. The pressure from Shear’s dick against his insides was almost unbearable. It felt like nothing he’d ever experienced before, it hurt and felt strange and also made him uncomfortable, like he had to take a shit. The Roadkill rocked slightly, causing Belt to cry out again. The War Boy closed his eyes tightly, his face contorted in pain as he leaned up to bury his head in Shear’s chest, trying to hide from view, trying to relax and not show any weakness.

Shear stroked his head with one hand, trying to calm him and honestly shocked that Belt hadn’t tried to kick him off or get away. “Relax your legs. Keep breathing.” He started to move, thrusting shallowly while he waited to see how Belt handled it. Shear could feel him tensing up and relaxing, then tensing again. The War Boy was definitely trying and that was an incredible turn on. Shear started to piston faster, arching up to rub against his sensitive insides. Belt’s pained groans turned into soft panting, then vague whimpers.

It was good enough. Shear didn’t expect the boy to lose himself in ecstasy his first time, not being in agony was more than a fair start. He didn’t want to chase him off from ever doing this again. A few more rapid deep thrusts and Shear was gone, falling onto his palms to prevent himself from collapsing onto Belt’s chest. With a soft sound of pleasure he nipped Belt’s lower lip pulling out so he could roll onto his side. Belt winced as Shear pushed his fingers back into his abused ass, but then gasped and lay back. Between Shear’s mouth and his fingers against that pleasurable spot inside him he was over the edge in a few brief moments.

Shear spit Belt’s seed onto the ground, wiping his mouth on the blanket before settling down next to the limp War Boy. Belt lay sprawled out, eyes finding Shear’s as he brought his arms up to try and drag the Roadkill down next to him. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what he wanted, but the warmth of Shear’s body against his felt absolutely amazing as he came down from his orgasm. The only sound he made was a muffled “mmmph” as Shear stroked his fingers along his chest.

Watching him with soft eyes, Shear continued to pet him as the War Boy settled down to sleep. He knew Belt’s brain was currently mush, but when he recovered his senses anything could happen. He might want to go again to relive that feeling, or he could attack Shear out of complete confusion and a feeling of being violated. And the last thing Shear wanted was to die horribly after a good fuck. He’d lay there and watch him, stay alert, just in case.

Hours later and Belt made a soft sound as he rolled over in his sleep, clutching at the Roadkill; pale fingers digging into dark skin as Belt moaned and pressed against him. With a start he woke up, catching his breath and staring at Shear in confusion while he tried to work out where he was and what had just happened.

He didn’t say anything, but he lay back down, nuzzling into Shear. The Roadkill shifted, pulling the War Boy flush against him, glad he hadn’t been attacked. He waited for Belt to fall back asleep before closing his eyes, one arm around him. Belt was the best pet he’d ever had by a wide, wide margin. He stroked the War Boy’s cheek with a finger, wondering if just maybe this one could someday be more than a pet.


	3. Hidden Treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roadkill are supposed to share everything, but Shear is keeping this all to himself.

Shear bundled the precious item in a swath of fabric, hiding it from view as he tucked it into his bike. The fallen convoy from Gastown that the Roadkill had found was just full of supplies, things the Buzzards who had attacked didn’t think important enough to steal and had left behind. It was a huge boon for the colony, and the small Roadkill scouting party was swarming all over it taking what they could as fast as possible.

In standard Roadkill style, everything was shared. They’d put it all in a pile in the central area of the camp and divvy out the goods based on need. So Shear taking something for himself would have been frowned upon, but fortunately no one noticed, and he was back to basic scavenging immediately. Naturally all the weapons and useful car parts were gone, but there was some food, canteens, and the corpses of the dead War Boys and Buzzards in all their clothes. It was a great haul and everyone had their bikes and cars packed to capacity as they turned to head back to their home.

Parking his bike at the base of his sniper nest without engaging the kill switch that made sure no one could ride off with it but him, he quickly climbed up to the second floor with his treasure, stashing it behind the mattress. Belt wasn’t there, but he didn’t expect him to be. He usually left him behind if they were going on a mission that might be dangerous, or when there were going to be War Boys around. Partially because he was still afraid that Belt would run off to return to them, but mostly because he knew if they realized the Roadkill had a War Boy captive they’d come down on them hard. Kill all of them to get to Belt and probably torture him to death for not dying in glory.

He slid down the ladder back to his bike, hopping onto it and roaring down the canon hopefully before anyone noticed he had made a pit stop. At the main camp he unhooked the cart his motorcycle was pulling, tugging it into the center and starting to unpack everything; sorting it into piles of clothing, metal scrap, edibles and so forth. He smiled at Belt who was surrounded, as always, by a swarm of curious children who had never seen a War Boy up close. Belt was still a novelty even after months of being there.

The War Boy was sitting on the ground with a bunch of scrap in his lap, tools spread all around him. He’d made the mistake of mentioning the winch and pulley system the Citadel had for transporting things from the ground to the upper levels, and immediately the leaders of the camp had descended on him and demanded he make one to show them. Belt only had a vague idea of how the whole contraption worked, but the vague threat of punishment was enough to get him to at least attempt it. Right now it looked like a wheel attached to a some metal pipes with a chain through it, but the basic principle was starting to show through.

He bounced up to his feet when Shear appeared, causing most of the children to scatter. With a grin he chased the rest of them off, making scary sounds and waggling his fingers at them as they screamed in delight and dove for cover from the terrifying War Boy. As soon as he got close enough to Shear the Roadkill reached out a hand to grab onto that harness and pull him close for a deep, rough kiss. A few of the younger Roadkill whooped and Belt blushed down his neck to his shoulders.

Pulling back Shear rubbed Belt’s shaved head affectionately, “Come. Time for hunger, then we get with all this salvage.” He picked up a few leather pouches with Scrotus’ symbol on them that were all tied together and looked towards the camp leader, “Permission?”

The woman nodded. Everyone knew what was in those, and it was of no use to anyone else. Shear tossed them to Belt who happily opened one before putting them all in his pockets. Even the smell was familiar and made him smile faintly.

Clay.

Bone white and mixed with clear oil so it coated evenly and stayed in place. The warpaint that all War Boys used to mark themselves as belonging to the cult of the Immortan, to embrace their half-life. Shear didn’t understand why, but Belt still wanted to keep painting himself, and got upset and distressed when he couldn’t find clay anymore, like he was losing his identity when he wasn’t painted like a skeleton.

He dutifully followed behind Shear up to the communal area where all the Roadkill ate. He still didn’t have a firm grasp on Roadkill society, they never attacked each other, there was no need to scarf down his food immediately because no one was trying to take it away from him. Even as a slave he didn’t get fed less than everyone else, he just didn’t have a place in the circle they sat in. He sat behind Shear, which was fine with him, he didn’t like being the center of attention, and he could hide his head in Shear’s back when the other Roadkill sometimes talked about him like he couldn’t hear them. Occasionally asking Shear for graphic detail about some of the things they got up to alone in sniper nest.

They spoke and told stories as they ate, discussed what they had done with their day and plans for the future. There was a definite leader they deferred to, but everyone was equal. Belt just didn’t understand. Where was the hierarchy? How did they get anything done? It seemed to work though, and fortunately for him, and the few other slaves in the camp, they seemed to have accepted these non-Roadkill pets as part of the family and took them into account when planning anything.

Belt had just finished chewing a piece of meat and was starting to pick things out of his can of olives when he cringed as they started talking about him, “Why are they callin’ him Belt? Other than he’s got one.”

Shear turned around to face him, “Why are you called that?”

Belt swallowed hard, eyes darting between the entire camp that was now looking at him. “It - it was a joke. The other pups.” He gulped again, trying to stifle down his stammering. “When I was a pup my uh…” His voice dropped to a whisper, embarrassed to be telling this story. “My lower half was so wide I didn’t need a belt to keep my pants up.”

He cringed as the assembled Roadkill chuckled before resuming their talks. Shear dragged him close into a one-armed hug. “You grew into that ass real nice though.” Belt turned redder than when he’d had heatstroke.

—

Shear and Belt headed back to the sniper tower, a small collection of salvage with them. Belt had gotten thin leather gauntlets to strap to his arm and shield his skin when he worked with sharp metal and Shear had a new jacket. It was missing sleeves but would still afford him some extra pockets and protection should he be thrown from his bike. Belt was carrying a small rotted burlap sack filled with other various odds and ends they’d received. The bulk of the items went to the rest of the tribe, Shear didn’t need much out in his ramshackle tower.

Shear plopped down on the mattress watching with a grin as Belt unpacked everything. “C'mere. Be seeing this.” He unwrapped the fabric from his hidden metal cylindrical jar. “You know what this is?”

Belt frowned and sat next to him picking up the tin and unscrewing the lid. Peering at the clearish goop inside he shook his head. “Some sort of oil?”

Shear’s grin got even bigger. “Better. I’ll be showing you.” Taking the jar out of Belt’s hand he set it to the side, turning Belt around so he could run his hands along his back. He reached over to unstrap the harness from Belt, his favorite part of the day, the War Boy hated wearing it and was always so relieved to be free of his confinement. Fingers worked the buckles, slowly sliding the leather straps away from Belt’s tawny skin. Leaning down he ran his tongue along the pale white tan lines where the harness had been, tasting his skin, salty with sweat and the tang of leather.

Belt closed his eyes, arching his back, his hands reached behind him to grab onto Shear’s knees, fingers kneading as he let out a soft moan. The War Boy had been deprived of kindness his whole life, and now that he knew Shear wasn’t going to attack or hurt him, he could relax and enjoy the soft touches and caresses. Shear’s hands went lower, unbuckling Belt’s pants and sliding them down so he could start to stroke him. Belt’s dick was already erect and starting to leak, he was so easy to arouse, and even easier to please.

Dipping the tips of his fingers in the tin he rubbed them together with his thumb, smiling. It’d been a long while since he’d seen decent lube, and even longer since he’d touched some. What he had in his hands was worth a small fortune. He slid his now slicked up fingers over Belt’s cock, startling out a soft sound of surprise and then an even louder moan.

“Ah. Wh-wha…?” Belt’s head fell back against Shear’s chest, his hips snapping up into the slippery wetness. It felt so good, and was getting better the more Shear used his hand, friction causing the lube to heat up and coat his dick in warmth.

Shear pulled his hand away, shifting around so that he could have Belt on his back as he yanked all his clothes off. Belt obediently got into position, much more relaxed after months of being in the Roadkill camp. He was still skittish and afraid of them, but not of Shear. Shear had told him time and time again that he wasn’t going to hurt him, and all his actions backed that up. He went out of his way to make sure Belt was happy and comfortable, treated him like an equal instead of a slave, and the few times that Belt had shied away from having sex he hadn’t forced him.

Boots were unlaced and kicked off, clothes were tossed into a pile and Shear pushed all the blankets to the side. The one thing he remembered about lube was that it got everywhere and it never came out; Belt already had shiny stripes around his hip and waist from where Shear had touched him. Settling down on his back Belt had his legs spread for Shear hooking his pale legs around the Roadkill’s dark knees. Smearing a little more lube on his fingers Shear pressed them to the War Boy’s entrance, stroking a few times before pushing the tip of his finger in.

Belt grunted, that still felt strange, even after all this time. But Shear continued to work him open, his fingers sliding in and out with ease, curling and scissoring to stretch him to accommodate his much larger cock. Belt’s face was incredible, eyes still closed, face contorting and relaxing as Shear rubbed his fingertips against sensitive places inside of him.

Pulling back he dipped his fingers in the lube again, he didn’t want to overdo it, but this stuff was amazing. Coating his dick with it he actually grunted and curled up a little, that really did feel unbelievably good. Belt was watching him, waiting for him, his fingers against his thighs. But Shear had other plans.

Sitting down with his legs outstretched he leaned his back against the wall, motioning Belt to come to him. The War Boy was unsure, sex was still so new to him that he hadn’t been very adventurous when it came to positions, and he didn’t understand what Shear wanted. Shear maneuvered him into place, having Belt tuck his feet beneath his legs, kneeling on Shear’s lap. Shear gripped his waist tightly, guiding him onto his dick, fingers digging in as the head of his cock popped inside with barely any resistance. Belt shuddered gloriously, hanging his head as his hands went flat against Shear’s chest.

“You’re in charge now. Be doing what you like.”

Belt’s head snapped up, looking afraid. “What?”

Shear gently pushed on his shoulders to get him to kneel a little lower and take more of his dick. “Take it how you like it.”

Belt didn’t know what to do, nor did he know what he liked. He normally just lay there and let the good feelings wash over him. Experimentally he lowered himself even more before pulling himself up again, using Shear’s torso as leverage. “Oh. That’s….hnn.” His breath caught as he rocked his hips and Shear’s dick pressed against his insides at a sharp angle. Well that felt good. He liked that.

Belt had seen plenty of War Boys naked, but he’d never paid much attention to their dicks. He had no idea that Shear was exceptionally well endowed. But Shear knew, and that was part of the reason he was so gentle with Belt, tried to prepare him for a good amount of time before fucking. But right now his cock was sliding deep into Belt, and the War Boy was groaning in pleasure rather than pain. Belt was riding him slowly, grinding his hips when their skin met and panting out needy sounding whimpers.

Hands tight around Belt’s sides, Shear leaned his head back against the corrugated metal wall. He wasn’t going to get off with how slow Belt was moving, but it was undeniably one of the most erotic things he’d ever seen or felt in his life. Belt was a slender little thing, but his abdominal muscles were crunching and writhing as he impaled himself again and again, his shoulders bunching as his hands clenched in Shear’s skin. He was anything but silent, huffing out whining desperate noises as he started to tremble.

Shear helped him along, wrapping his fingers around Belt’s dick as he moved, sending him cresting into pleasure and then smiling softly as he collapsed forward against his chest. Sighing happily he nosed against Belt’s head getting his hands under his ass so he could lift him off his dick. Belt twisted around, bringing his legs together and curling up so he could sit comfortably in Shear’s lap, leaning happily against him, side pressed firmly against his stomach and chest.

Belt was always so exhausted after sex, he gave of himself fully and then lay all over Shear while he recovered. Shear cradled him in his arms, thanking any gods that might exist for sending the storm that brought this War Boy to him. He was really the worst War Boy ever: soft, timid, and uncertain. But he sure made Shear feel good in ways he’d never felt before.

“I’m all sticky.”

Shear chuckled. “Thems the bad things about this. Gonna be slippery too. It’ll wear off.” He kissed down from Belt’s ear to his neck sending shivers down his spine. “Worth it, yea?”

“Mmhmm.” He squirmed and cuddled closer. “What is it?”

“Lube.”

“They make it for this?” Belt bit his lip as Shear licked a line across his skin and then gently blew on it. “Why would they do that? Use resources on something that isn’t food or war?”

Shear laughed, hugging him tight. “Oh pup. You have much to be learned about the world outside the Citadel. This right here’s one of best resources there is. All untouchable like. Just needs to be nourished and eased along. Tell me this ain’t more better than war?”

Belt grumbled, looking away and refusing to admit anything, and then yelped as Shear bit him. “I … I suppose.” Such a terrible War Boy.

“Mmhmm. I likes it better too.” He lowered his voice to a guttural whisper. “Like you.”

The War Boy went rigid and then curled up even tighter, arms around Shear. He smirked and stroked him, Belt blushing so hard Shear could almost feel it.


End file.
